


You Can Look But You Can't Touch

by OhNoHello



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Eventual Smut, Filthy, M/M, Porn With Plot, catching feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-18
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29156544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNoHello/pseuds/OhNoHello
Summary: The world was Hermes’ oyster, there were a great many things he could choose from.He chose to strip.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 72
Kudos: 301





	1. The Stripper

**Author's Note:**

> Sing the lyrics with me kids: 
> 
> I intended this to be a one shot
> 
> It went longer than I expected
> 
> Its now 3 chapters long
> 
> On the plus side, I think I can post all 3 chapters this week so theres that :) It just made sense for better pacing this way. Call it my writer's anal tendencies. 
> 
> I am but a clown writing filth
> 
> [BROUGHT TO YOU BY CHRISTOPHER'S CLUB OLYMPUS AU READ IT ITS AMAZING!!!](https://twitter.com/darkcatss/status/1356054749867597824?s=20)
> 
> Enjoy

It felt like flying. The rush of air through his hair, the blur of the room, the turn of gravity. The drop in his stomach as the world turned upside down. The way everything else fell away. Hermes might as well have been soaring through the air. 

Hermes slid around the pole, the metal flush against his body and dragging across his skin. The entire club stood on its head. Patrons sat swirling their drinks on the ceiling, the drop tile below Hermes’ feet. He extended his back, slowly unfurling one arm, as if to reach for the crowd below him, and smiled. 

All eyes on him. 

Hermes could have stayed up there for hours, but that was not how the money was made. 

A quick flip and Hermes’ body dropped to the ground. Heels clacked hard against the stage and he dropped into a crouch to catch the impact. The added effect of putting his best assets on display was just a bonus. He gave it a beat, finding the rhythm of the song that pounded through the speakers, before climbing his hands back up the pole, back arched, and keeping what was most important in center view. 

He felt the side of a bill tap his leg. The patron at his feet was pure admiration, all smiles and eyes wide and twinkling with abject awe. He placed the twenty down by Hermes’ feet. 

“Thanks a lot boss,” Hermes said, head tilted to give the man his full attention. 

The acknowledgement was minor, but in that moment it was the world to the money giver. Little things Hermes did for his adoring audience. 

He bent and picked up the bill, folding it and sliding it neatly into the band of his booty shorts. Green poking out from either side, squished alongside its fellow brethren. They’d be put to _very_ good use later. 

Hermes was a man of many talents. He had a gift of conversation, of speech, of language. He knew just how to twirl another person around his little finger and get them to do just as he wanted. He knew how to handle his money and had handled it well. 

The world was Hermes’ oyster, there were a great many things he could choose from. 

He chose to strip. 

Hermes took his time, holding onto the pole, and twirled around it. One foot switched over the other to make his ass move and push and fold in interesting ways. He leaned his weight out, letting the momentum drag him around in a circle. Using one hand, he snapped open the buttons of his vest, already so small and ineffectual and doing barely anything to cover him up. One by one, rhinestone buttons popped to reveal the expanse of his chest and the humid chill of acrid smoke from a fog machine brushed against exposed nipples. He ran his hand up to flick one anyways, just for effect. 

Another twenty was thrown his way. 

Hermes liked being on stage. He liked the attention, the adoration, the eyes. He liked the music and the sweat. 

He liked flying. 

Hermes knew what he looked like, he knew he was not just attractive but enticing and stimulating. He knew he sparked the imagination of what it would be like to be with him. 

He knew thirst. He knew hunger. 

Fuck getting a desk job. Fuck the regular life. There would be time for that when he was old and his looks had faded away and he sat on his carefully lauded mountain of earnings. 

Until then, and hopefully forever, he’d do as he pleased. 

Fingers nipped at his ankles, just a brush of skin, looking to get more from Hermes than he gave. With a considerable amount of strength in his arms, Hermes pulled his legs up and away from the touch. He twisted around the pole and slowly lowered his head, flipping the world upside down once more to look the offender in the eye. The wings clipped into his hair, his signature, drooped and brushed against the stage. 

He waggled a finger in the air. 

“Uh uh,” he said to the drunkenly grinning man. “No touch. Only look.” 

He glanced to the door where Meg stood, arms crossed and a scowl on her face. The big woman stood a little straighter, her arms unfolding and ready for action. Hermes smirked and shook his head, the look enough of a warning to make the drunk sit back in his seat. Content to only look and never touch. 

In his domain, Hermes had all the control. He ran the show, moved the whims and hearts and cocks of many if not all. No, he would never give this up for the world. 

Besides. He met the most _interesting_ people. 

The door opened and even that deep into Club Olympus, Hermes could feel the night air brush across his skin. Meg turned and nodded, letting the new guests in without asking for ID or entry fee. They slid into the dim and the fog like wraiths, gliding smoothly to their designated seating. 

Hermes wondered if they were there for business or pleasure. 

It was a known secret that Club Olympus fell under Chthonic territory, for better or worse. At some point in the past months, the Chthonic brothers had come into their little club. The young glittery one, Hypnos, did not bother hiding his stash as he exchanged baggies of white powder for more cash than Hermes could make in a week. Sometimes he got caught and Ares would insist he leave, dragged out by the scruff by Meg, much to the little gremlin’s delight. Other nights he fell asleep in a booth from sampling too much of his own wares. No one had the heart to move him, even after closing. 

A short time after, Hypnos was accompanied by the dark figures that trailed behind him. His brothers. 

All three were notorious in their own ways. Hypnos for his blatant disregard of any sense of order. Thanatos, his twin, for the strict adherence to it. Just as tall as his brightly dressed, club baby brother, but always a consummate professional. In suits and ties and looking ready to kill. His neck looked like it might snap, trying to keep his eyes above every belt in the joint. 

And then there was Charon. 

He stood a head taller than most of the crowd, moving through it like a shark. He was always decked out in gold, pounds of the stuff dangling from his neck, a ring or two on each finger, a collar high enough to brush against his jawline, bracelets and belts and a watch so ostentatious it reflected the strobe lights. He always came in with that wide brimmed hat, tilted low over his eyes and hiding half his face. A long flowing jacket and a sturdy wooden cane at his side. Long white hair, almost purposefully scraggly to the point that it came back around and was fashionable. It was the mask across the lower half of his face that was by far the most eye catching aspect. 

Designed like a skeleton's grin, it was encrusted with gold and jewels that caught the light. Talons dug into his cheekbones, making it look almost painful to wear. A grimace of intimidation that should have been over the top but was right at home on the man. 

The overall effect designed to be someone you simply did not fuck with. 

Not even Ares could kick him out. Meg didn’t even try. 

To Hermes, he was a challenge. 

Still upside down, Hermes smiled, his eyes not wavering from the object of his attention. He didn’t care that he was still, that he was losing the interest of other patrons. 

In that moment, they didn’t matter. 

The Chthonic brothers took their usual seats, fortunately empty. It was Hypnos’ usual spot to camp, a known place to go if someone wanted a high to take to the bathroom. Thanatos was a rare showing. 

Charon had been making individual appearances more and more often. 

The imposing man took off his hat and set it to the side. He rested his cane on the side of the booth. His eyes slid to Hermes. Pale and intense and unblinking. 

Hermes let his legs drop from the pole and flip over his head, once again falling to the ground. He looked over his shoulder, to see if he still held Charon’s attention. 

He did. 

Business or pleasure, pleasure or business. 

They could have been there for business, for a deal, for a shipment. To talk to some client or another without the attention or worries of legality. Not that they would worry, being above and below it all. 

Hypnos went to order drinks for his brothers, talking in that lackadaisical animated way of his, Thanatos insisting he didn’t need any, but would politely hold it for the rest of the night. 

Charon still had not looked away from Hermes. 

Business or pleasure. Hermes was pleased to dance for Charon and Charon was his business. There was one way to tell what Charon was there for. 

Hermes crooked his finger over his shoulder. 

The track dropped out as Orpheus switched from one set to the next, the lights flashing to nothing. In that moment, there was a stillness where Hermes waited on Charon, to give in to pleasure. The next beat pounded through the speakers and Charon rose to his feet. 

Hermes grinned. He couldn’t contain it. 

He turned back to the pole, just to focus on something that wasn’t Charon. His hips swayed to the beat, hitting the sides hard with each stop. It was a slower song, something more seductive and sensual and did not match the staccato in Hermes’ chest. 

He felt fingers at his ankle again. 

The drunk had leaned forward, playing with bright orange feathers, and trying to slip a fiver into the strap of his heel. Hermes just laughed. 

“You’re going to want to move there, mate,” he said. 

The drunk looked up, mouth open and eyes drooped. A handsome wooden cane, tipped in gold, tapped the side of the chair with a soft _’tink tink’_. The man looked over his shoulder, up at the towering figure that eclipsed him. One look at the diamond smile and he knew he should do _exactly_ as Hermes suggested. He left his five dollar bill behind and stumbled from the seat. 

Charon promptly took his place. 

With a grin of supreme satisfaction, Hermes got back to work. He told himself it was for his audience, but Charon had a way of turning that into an audience of one. Something about having power over a creature that dangerous gave Hermes a thrill. 

He wanted to fly. 

Hermes pulled himself back up the pole with the full intent to impress. A simple climb and his feet were off the ground again, his arms holding his body rigid so that he looked as if he were floating. A swing of his legs and once again he was up. One leg wrapped around the pole, one arm holding tight, his body coiled backwards, showing off just how flexible he was. The wings of his heel kissed the wings in his hair as he pulled his foot closer to his face. He spun slowly and as he turned, he looked to see if he had succeeded in what he had sought out to do. 

Charon hardly looked impressed. He hardly emoted at all. The first time he sat at Hermes’ beck and call, he had been a stonewall. Impossible to read. Hermes had always been good at reading people, figuring out their most secret desires within a matter of seconds. Simple creatures easy to exploit. 

Charon had been a language he had to learn. 

The intensity of his gaze, the way those pale eyes looked at Hermes and nowhere else. The way his hand tightened around the golden ball of his cane head. The soft clink of his necklaces as he shifted in micromovements. 

Hermes tilted his head slowly, eyelids heavy, the perfect set bedroom eyes to play on the stoic man’s fantasies, whatever they may be. From the way he shifted in his seat, Hermes guessed he managed to wriggle his way in. 

Hermes slid from the pole as smooth as silk and to the ground. He kept going, letting his legs part, and falling into a split. He flopped his body forward, his head coming to a rest at his knee, and looked to Charon as if they were lovers nestled in bed together. 

“Hey there old man,” he said, too quiet to be heard over the _thump thump thump_ of the beat, but he knew Charon heard him all the same. “I’m glad you’re here, you’ve made my night better.” He tilted his head, letting his cheek press into his leg, his smile going mischievous. “How can I make yours?” 

At that distance, Hermes could smell Charon’s cologne. Businesslike, subtle, curt. A perfectly functional scent designed to smell like money and cover up nicotine and corruption. Hermes bathed in that intense glare, those eyes that didn’t blink and pinned him down. 

He tried hard not to think about being pinned down by Charon. Charon’s sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms, and they told a story of just how easy that would be. Hermes’ eyes wove around the tattoos etched into his skin. 

A story Hermes placed in a dark corner of his mind that sang to him what a dangerous path he trod. 

Charon shifted and reached into his pocket, pulling out a nondescript handsome leather wallet. He flitted through the bills and took out what looked to be a crisp new hundred. Charon had a bit of an anal side to him, a careful need to control, that much was clear, as he folded the hundred long ways and then in half. He reached forward and slipped it into the double band around Hermes’ thigh. 

Hermes shivered as the gold of Charon’s rings ghosted across his skin. 

The only touch he’d allow from the man. 

For now. 

Into the box that thought went too. 

Charon let the band snap against his skin and Hermes made a playful little wince at the feeling. He unfurled and rose back to his feet, leaning against the pole, legs wide to show off everything and make Charon’s night. 

____

Hermes was Charon’s favorite stripper, that much was clear. 

Regulars at a strip club weren’t an anomaly. They were the bread and butter of Hermes’ line of profession. Aphrodite had her slew of admirers. Dionysus often said she should make them t-shirts. They could shoot them out of a t-shirt gun. Ares’ regulars were a weird sort, Thanatos being one of them, although the uptight young man would never admit it. There was only one time where he managed to slip Ares some money onto the stage, head turned down, ashamed to look up at the stripper as he did it. Hermes had his handful of guests who came specifically for him. 

None of them as devout as Charon. 

Dio had once told Hermes that the man had come in, saw Hermes wasn't working that day, and promptly left. Hermes was pretty sure the gangster had managed to get a hold of and memorized his schedule. 

So when Hermes was working the stage and saw the beanstalk reclined in a booth, materialized from the god damned ether, he was unsurprised. 

Charon was relaxed, leaned back, a glass of amber alcohol in hand. He rotated his wrist lazily, letting the ice clink alongside the glass. A lit cigarette sat between his fingers. They were a no smoking establishment, but no one was going to tell Charon what he could or could not do. The heat of warm bodies that filled the space must have gotten to him. His sport coat was off, draped over the back of the booth, sleeves rolled up as he often did. 

Hermes wondered if it was a tactic to show off strong forearms, to make himself more attractive. 

It was working. 

He wasn't looking at Hermes, dazed in his own mind, and took a long drag off his cigarette. Smoked curled from the empty spaces in his mask. 

Hermes trot off the stage and headed to Dio's bar, sweaty and panting from the continuous exertion of his last set. Shade hopped on stage to clean off the poles as quick as they could. It would be only a matter of minutes of downtime before they were up and working again. Hermes leaned against the bar. 

"Working hard for it tonight, yeah?" Dionysus asked. He poured a scant amount of scotch over too much ice, maximizing their profit through flare. "Doesn't seem like much for all that effort." 

"The effort is what makes it fun." Hermes leaned his back against the bar and propped his elbows up on it. 

Hermes tried not to look at him again. He failed. 

"Try telling the old man that," Dio said. "He's gonna throw a fit if you don't hit his expected margin. Again." 

They were all expected to do as well as their best stripper, even Dionysus at his bar, but who in the hell could keep up with the kind of attention Aphrodite drew. Hermes drummed his fingers on the bar. 

"The old man can suck my dick," Hermes muttered. 

"Don't let him hear you say that." Aphrodite slid next to Hermes at the bar, her own sheen of sweat making the glitter pop. With the shoestring bikini set she wore, she might as well have been naked. She nodded her head in the direction of Charon. "Looks like money bags is back."

"Simp," Dionysus said. 

"Hey!" Hermes glared over his shoulder. "That's my simp you're talking about." 

"Take advantage of it, dearest," Aphrodite said, tilting her head into her cheek. "Have you asked him if he'd like a lap dance?" 

Hermes wasn't the lap dance type. It was never an option he put on the menu. Far too slow, too intimate. It went against everything Hermes found fun about his job. He was there to show off, to be adored while he was weightless, not for the lust fueled blind devotion Aphrodite conjured. Not to be the sole focus of seduction for one person. 

But if it was the right person. . . 

"I bet he'd tip well," Aphrodite said in Hermes' ear. "If it was you." 

Hermes jut out his jaw and cracked his neck. 

"Fine," he said, pushing off the bar. "Fine. Let's do this." 

"Go get that simp!" Aphrodite said and gave Hermes a swift smack on the ass. 

Hermes stumbled from the force of it, his heels clacking as he did, and he shot his sister a quick glare over his shoulder. A quick clearing of his throat and finding a strut, Hermes made his way to Charon. 

It would just be a lap dance. Hermes had done plenty of those before, even if it wasn’t his forte. Just a lap dance. 

Charon's head turned and he finally saw Hermes coming. Those pale eyes practically glowing in the black light. 

"Just a lap dance," Hermes said to himself. He put on his best smile, the one that made men weak in the knees. "Just a lap dance." 

He climbed the stairs up to the raised platform where the Chthonics usually sat. A secluded section of the club that had been previously set aside for bachelor and bachelorette parties. A semi circle of pale couches that glowed purple in the black light, all sectioned off by a railing to keep drunks from falling into a lawsuit. By the last step, Hermes had fully sunk into his role. Chin tilted low, eyes smoldering, pinpointed directly on Charon like there was no one else in the club. A tactic, a face he would give anyone, to make them feel special, but for Charon it felt more true. 

There was something singular about the man. Special. Something that had nothing to do with his untouchable status of questionable legality or the gold he wore across his face. Something to do with the way those eyes bored right through Hermes. 

“Hey boss,” Hermes said, keeping his saunter up as he neared closer and closer. He could smell the nicotine over the fog machine. “Here all by your lonesome tonight? No one wanted to join you for a little R and R?”

Charon made no motion to stop Hermes, to send him away. He was there to see Hermes. 

Hermes leaned into the man, practically draping himself over him, hands firmly planted on the couch, just shy of touching. Charon didn’t flinch, didn’t recoil. Merely looked Hermes in the eye, daring him to do more. 

“Would you like some company?” Hermes asked. “How about a lap dance?”

Hermes suppressed a shiver, trying not to be intimidated by that intense stare. He had never gotten this close to the gangster before, he had never tested him this hard before. On the stage, he was merely a show, a display, a tease. Up that close, Hermes didn’t just exploit his customer for his wallet. He made himself vulnerable. 

Hermes waited, half expecting Charon to huff out cigarette smoke and firmly reject Hermes, but instead the big man went for his wallet. 

There should have been no doubt. 

Hermes bit his lip and pulled away, standing up a little taller so as to look at the man. He eyed the bills Charon withdrew from his wallet, watching with fascination as Charon slipped them into the band of his long gloves. 

“That gets you a song, big man,” Hermes said, standing up straight and moving just out of Charon’s touch. 

Charon relaxed back into the booth and took a sip from his drink, in that careful way that poured between the slot in his mask. He exuded an aura of complete control at all times, unflappable and immoveable. Despite his devotion at Hermes’ altar, he never lost control of the situation. 

Hermes wondered how much it would take. 

The song shifted, sliding seamlessly from one into the next despite the difference in tone. Going from filthy sex jam to something a little more sultry. Hermes slipped into it as if that were his natural state. Running his hands over his body, swaying his hips in time with the slower beat, eyes heavy and fixed directly on Charon. 

Dancing wasn’t particularly Hermes’ top skill. He had rhythm and could seduce equally as effectively, but it wasn’t flying. It wasn’t freedom. It was a performance, a farce. 

Hermes didn’t want to give Charon fake. 

He stepped back into Charon’s space, crowding him and sliding between Charon’s legs. Charon was forced to spread them wider, to accommodate Hermes and his wriggling. Slow and seductive wasn’t exactly his speed, but he could do that just to keep Charon’s intense gaze on him like that.

Charon flicked his cigarette, a nervous twitch that sent ash to the couch seat. 

He was liking what he was seeing. 

Hermes couldn’t stop his smug grin and turned in place to give Charon a full 360 view. Pieces of Hermes that Charon probably knew well, dreamt about if he was lucky. Hermes wished Charon dreamed of him. 

He slid his hips back and forth, crouching lower and lower and arching his back to better present the goods. Hoping that Charon enjoyed the way his shorts slid up his ass, showing off the swell of pert cheeks. 

He leaned back, gripping Charon’s thighs for support and enjoying the slight twitch of muscle. He pressed his hips back, brushing up against the strain in Charon’s pants, feeling appreciation prod his backside. He bit his lip to hold back a pleased little giggle, dug his fingers into dark slacks, and sat back all the more. 

Ice clinked and a second later, fingers chilled from the glass brushed against his hip. Hermes gave Charon’s hand a swift smack and smirked over his shoulder. 

“Bad man,” he accused. “You know the rules. You can look, but you can’t touch.” 

Charon sighed, quiet and contemplative that might have been mistaken for frustration. He draped his arm across the back of the couch and his fingers drummed on the cushion. Definitely frustration. 

Hermes kept his eyes on Charon and ground his ass against the tent in his pants, enjoying the twitch of his brow, hints of a frown behind that mask. 

He wanted to see how far he could push the man. 

Hermes slid down to the floor, between Charon’s legs, head tilted back to keep his eyes on the gangster. His wings brushed against the lapels of Charon’s jacket, head almost bumping into the space between Charon’s legs, until he was on the floor. He crawled away, just once with the beat of the music, before sitting back on his heels and running his hands up his body, tracing his shape and making sure Charon saw every curve. 

Starting with a look over his shoulder and twisting with the rest of his body, Hermes turned around. Back on all fours, subservient and submissive before Charon, eyes fixed solely on him. 

Charon was practically screaming in his little tells. The grip around the cigarette, the downturn of his brow, the slide of a designer shoe along the floor. 

Will power and restraint was a good look on him, especially when he fought against it so prettily. 

“Whats the matter, daddy?” Hermes asked, crawling forward. “Is something bothering you?” 

Oh that one struck a nerve. Charon actually _shifted_. Like he was sitting on a tack. Hermes couldn’t pinpoint what it was that bothered him. Had it been the _’daddy’_? Or was it the taunting lilt in his voice. 

Or maybe it was the sheer fact that they both knew what was bothering Charon. 

Hermes pushed more. 

Hermes crawled between Charon’s legs, face still downturned and eyes big and just barely innocent. He could have climbed the man, letting his arms go on either side of him and push up using the couch as leverage. Had it been any other client, that was exactly what Hermes would have done. 

But since it was Charon. 

Hermes ran his hands on the inside of Charon’s thighs, starting at the knees and letting a feather light touch trace the hem of his slacks. He delighted in the way Charon tried not to dance, tense as he pushed in further and further. 

Hermes went up onto his knees, leaning in close. His mouth opened slack as he hovered just shy of Charon’s obvious affection. Hermes breathed out a soft little sigh, looking completely content to stay hovered right there. 

Charon completely irate at his position. 

The couch squealed as Charon’s grip tightened. 

Hermes played out scenarios, wanting Charon to be able to touch him as much as Charon obviously wanted to lay hands on Hermes. He wanted Charon’s hands to press harshly against the back of his head, to press his face into the front of his pants, to have Hermes open his mouth and tongue at it. 

Hermes almost did right then and there. 

The bridge of the song came on, slipping into the last chorus by its obvious structure. 

Hermes climbed the mountain, pressing his body just shy of Charon’s, twisting his hands over those powerful thighs. 

One last line to cross. One last boundary to push against. 

Hermes may have not allowed himself to taste the front of Charon’s pants, but he lolled out his tongue and pressed it to the ice studded mask. 

His tongue trailed over the bumpy terrain of a facial accessory that probably cost more than what he made in a year. The gold tasted like cold and nothing more, a winter chill and the scent of frozen air. The diamonds pricked his tongue and Hermes could just barely make out the shape of their individual crowns. He dipped into the open divot, tasting of scotch and cigarette smoke. Up and up he went, tracing the shape of a skeletal turn of a nasal bone. 

When his taste was done, Hermes reared back, letting his tongue trail out and giving Charon a view of a wet, open mouth. Inviting him inside. 

Charon may have had control at the beginning, but Hermes had him completely warped as the song came to an end. 

“Song’s over big man,” Hermes whispered. 

Charon stalled again, his face returning to its blank impassive mask. He waited. Waited for Hermes to pull away, for the dance to officially end and Charon could go back to his whiskey and his sulk. When Hermes didn’t go, Charon pulled out another bill. This time, he slipped it into the band of Hermes’ shorts, where they curved pleasantly over the shape of his ass. 

Charon let his fingers trail, using the excuse for the slightest of touches across soft skin, skirting the rules. 

“Another round?” Hermes asked. 

Charon settled back in his seat again. 

Hermes had to admit to himself, Charon was his favorite customer.


	2. The Gangster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were a few very honest facts that Hermes had yet to come to terms with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just lying here still ashamed of my filth but i'm not stopping :')

Hermes didn’t smoke. He could have very well taken his breaks in the back room just like everyone else. He had no real reason to go into the back alley behind the club. He didn’t need the ventilation or to be exiled into the cold to get his nicotine fix. But still, Hermes took his breaks outside. 

Wrapped in his coat against the chill of an icy spring drizzle, an oversized affair that covered him down to his thighs, Hermes stepped out into the puddle ridden alley and headed to his spot as far from the dumpster as possible. He spent his time leaning against the brick wall of the 24/7 chinese buffet next to the club, resting his temple against the cool of it. Even in the heat of summer, it was always set to a nice temperate chill. 

Try as they might keep the club cold, they couldn’t blast the arctic air conditioner to Hermes’ liking. It was hot in there, with all those bodies and all that sweat. Hermes had a tendency to overheat as he spun around his pole. He knew he’d have to reluctantly climb down when the world started to spin in the less fun way. 

It didn’t help that Zeus wasn’t about to shell out the extra cash for more AC. 

Hermes cracked open his water bottle and gave himself until the time he was done with it before he headed back inside, about the average time it took to smoke a cigarette. 

Hermes pulled out his phone, to see what latest fires were blowing up in the world, when something caught his eye. 

The big black horror of a car sat at the far end of the parking lot where the street lights didn’t touch. Hunched over like a monster in the shadows. Hermes recognized it. The car that was always parked outside, just out of view and far away from the rest of the world. 

Charon’s car. 

Just another spot where he conducted his business. A place out of the way of prying eyes. Hermes had seen strange people go in and out of that car, staying for not much longer than a few minutes. They would climb in the back, there would be a little movement, and soon they would be gone. 

Nothing legal ever looked like that. 

Hermes took a sip and waited for what sketchy individual would arrive to keep his customer away from him, but no one came. As Hermes stared, his eyes adjusted to the dark and he could make out the shape of Charon in his car. A hand dangled out of the window, a wisp of smoke dancing from the end of a lit cigarette. It curled back inside the drivers side and a glow of red illuminated from behind the tinted glass. 

Hermes could make out the shape of a face. 

High cheekbones and a gaunt face that Hermes had never seen before. It dipped inward in a way that was unnatural to a typical face’s shape, following the hollow curve of a skull rather than the outward cheek filled with muscle. When Charon turned his head, Hermes saw his nose wasn’t much better. It still at least looked like a nose, as far as he could see, but there was something too upturned about it, something missing. 

The mask may have been covered with bling, but it might not have been far from the truth. 

Hermes watched the man steadily go through his cigarette, enjoying his own form of a break. And Hermes mulled over what he had been putting off for a while. 

There were a few very honest facts that Hermes had yet to come to terms with. 

The first of which was that Charon was attractive. Very attractive. Hot as all hell. That distracting kind of sexy that sat fat in the back of Hermes’ mind and refused to move. A confidence in his every motion, even when he was straining against his own lust, that left Hermes in a state. The way pale eyes cut through the din of the club and could always pinpoint on him no matter where he was. Long silken locks that cascaded over broad shoulders that Hermes wanted to run his hands through. Strong hands that could hold Hermes down whichever way they wanted. 

Hermes had fleeting attractions to many people. He had wandering eyes and his own hunger that he needed to feed. Many _many_ people were attractive. 

Charon was on a whole different level. 

The sort of strange beauty that was once in a nightmare. Features that surpassed just pretty, a uniqueness that couldn’t be duplicated. 

A flavor that Hermes had grown _very_ thirsty for. 

That was simple to accept, how Hermes saw Charon. It was easy. Charon was attractive. Fact. 

The follow up was harder to contend with. 

Hermes wanted Charon. He wanted him in all the ways a person could want another. Sexually being the obvious one. 

Fantasies were all too easy with those hard eyes on him and only him. Thinking of Charon’s hands on his body, how they would feel gripping his hips and not just brushing against them. Ripping off those ridiculously expensive suits and seeing what kind of build Charon was hiding beneath them. Seeing what kind of heat he was packing. 

Hermes was ready to accept anything. 

He wanted to bite into Charon’s neck. To tongue his ear. To slide Charon’s fingers into his most secret of places. He wanted to strip bare before Charon, to have those worshiping hands actually do what they wanted. 

He wanted to get _fucked_ by _Charon._

That was a line Hermes wasn’t allowed to cross. Sleeping with a customer was a problem on so many different levels. A sort of conflict of interests. A stripper/guest confidentiality. Hermes had to remain objective, to see Charon as he saw every other drooling face in the crowd. Charon couldn’t be special. 

Even though he was. 

“Ares would kill me,” Hermes said and took another long sip of water. 

It wasn’t just sex though. If it was, then Hermes could douse himself in a bucket of cold water and be done with it. 

A soft twang in Hermes’ heart had begun to form. The flutter of excitement whenever Charon entered the club. The hope that Charon would come his way, sit at his feet, stay at his stage. 

Hermes hadn’t felt that way since middle school. 

Hermes sucked down water and did _not_ admit it. 

Last fact, Charon was dangerous. 

The way the Chthonics had strong armed their way into Club Olympus and all but pissed on the ground, staking the club as their own, was a whole level of dangerous. It was their territory, where they conducted less than legal business, whether anyone liked it or not. If Zeus had any qualms about it, Hermes had yet to hear them. Ares had made his displeasure known a couple of times, but no correction had been made. 

Intimidation was their game. Even Hypnos, in his way, was a force to be reckoned with. An unstoppable natural disaster that just did without any concern for repercussions. Thanatos looked as if he never smiled in his life and was just about ready to pick and win a fight with anyone who so much as looked at him funny. 

But none of them held a candle to Charon. 

A quiet presence that looked down on everyone around him, like he was greater than it all. There was no dare or threat, but his sheer presence was enough to make even the toughest of competitors halt in their tracks and second guess bad ideas. 

Hermes was pretty sure Charon had killed a man. He was pretty sure Charon had killed multiple men. 

Staring down the marred outline of Charon’s face, he was pretty sure Charon knew danger and death and disregarded it all with as much flippancy as he did everyone else. 

Everyone. . . except Hermes. 

Hermes should know better. He should know to stay away. To put aside those rampant thoughts and that quiet beating of butterflies. That he should repeat like a mantra _’he’s just a customer, just like everyone else, just a customer, like everyone else.’_ Until he believed it. That indulging with a man like that, pushing him as Hermes did, was a _bad idea._

A car drove through the parking lot and its headlights illuminated the inside of Charon’s boxy boat. For the briefest of seconds, Hermes could see those intense pale eyes looking in the rearview mirror, the red glow of his cigarette burning dancing fire just beneath them. 

Looking at Hermes. 

Hermes drank the last of his water, the bottle emptied and crinkling as he sucked the air out of it. He gasped for breath, licked droplets from his lips, and did not look away from the eyes that still stared at him in the dark. 

Hermes maintained that contact, tracing the dip and jut of Charon’s face, before turning back to the club. He threw his bottle into the dumpster and hiked his coat tighter around his body. 

And _did not_ admit to anything. 

____

 _Stripping_ was an integral part to being a stripper. It was obvious and probably shouldn’t have been said, but more often than not, Hermes and his kin stepped out onto the stage already stripped down to their skivvies and showing off more skin than a nudie mag. Every so often, Hermes liked to indulge in a little tease. 

He came out of the back room dressed in an oversized button down that went past his ass, covering up the goods beneath. Heels off, hair askew, and looking like he just rolled out of bed. A temptation of something that his customers could imagine waking up next to, spending the morning with. A fantasy of a different kind. 

Plus, there was something so satisfying about slowly unbuttoning another man’s shirt. 

Hermes had one foot on the stage, ready to enact his little plan. 

“You got a request for a private dance.” 

Hermes stopped and frowned straight ahead, letting his arms dangle. He looked over his shoulder at his brother behind the bar. 

“What?” he asked. 

Dionysus jerked his head to the bank of rooms behind tied off velvet curtains. 

“Your presence has been requested,” he said. 

“I’m just about to do my shift,” Hermes said, flailing an arm to the stage. 

Dionysus shrugged. 

“I don’t know what to tell you man,” he said. “The dude paid triple just for you so I guess you’re doing _that_ now instead.” 

That got Hermes’ attention. He dropped his arm to the side, the sleeve sliding over his fingers, and looked back to the bank of velvet rooms. He tried to find the shape of a large brimmed hat behind the frosted panes. 

“Room 2,” Dionysus said. 

Already knowing who was waiting inside, Hermes shuffled like a sleepwalker to his assigned room. To the man who paid extra for exclusive attention. 

He opened the door and was unsurprised. 

The room was designed to look like fake luxury. Red velvet carpeted the walls and draped down from the ceilings, a slew of gold peppered throughout in beaded chains. A mirrored ball hung from the dead center of the room, reflecting lights as it spun lazily in place. The room had recently and thankfully been shampooed and still smelled of industrial cleanser and perfume. Music from the club piped in through speakers hidden in the corners, more discernible within the padded walls. A cheap facade for cheap thrills. 

Hermes smiled and folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the door frame.

“Triple the rate, huh?” Hermes asked. 

Charon opened his golden case where hand rolled cigarettes lay like a chorus line. He gently pulled one out and put it in the space between the teeth of the mask, lighting up without looking away from Hermes. Smoke poured out from between the teeth on either side and Charon indicated further into the room, as if inviting Hermes in for tea. 

Hermes laughed, quiet and under his breath, and closed the door behind him. He dropped the curtain, giving them some privacy, save for the camera in the corner. 

“Someone’s a little greedy, wouldn’t you say, boss?” Hermes said, crossing the room. “Here I was, ready to go on stage and do a little dance, but you couldn’t have that could you?”

Hermes teased, running his hand up the side of his body, pulling up the shirt, just to show off how little Hermes wore underneath before letting it fall back into place. He walked tiptoe to the corner of the room and pulled the chair from the corner, dragging its legs across the carpet to just in front of Charon. He rested his hands down on the arms, back arched so his ass was on display, tails of the shirt riding up. 

The couch behind him shifted and he could sense Charon’s hand reaching out. 

Hermes was quick to turn, drop into the chair, and planted a firm foot on Charon’s chest, pushing him back into his place. He pressed down on Charon’s sternum, applying pressure, and felt the gold medallion strain under his foot. 

“Now now, you know better than that,” Hermes said. “Even though we’re behind closed doors, the rules are still in place, daddy.” 

Charon grumbled at that, his brows pinching together in consternation. 

“What?” Hermes asked, teasing laughter bubbling under his voice. He ran his foot slowly up Charon’s chest. “Don’t like it when I call you daddy?” 

“Hrrm,” Charon hummed. 

“What can I call you then?” Hermes asked. “Big man? Boss?” 

Hermes’ foot hooked under Charon’s chin and tilted his head up, forcing Charon to look down at him. 

“Charon. . .” Hermes tried out for the first time. 

Charon breathed out slow, his body visibly relaxing. As if the mere sound of Hermes’ voice saying his name was enough to soothe all his troubles. 

Hermes kept moving his foot up, around Charon’s jaw, until it lined up against the side of his face. The side hidden under the mask that Hermes knew was concave. 

“Charon,” Hermes said again. 

Charon closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. 

Hermes’ heart stuttered. 

That was too much. 

Hermes brought his foot back, leaving Charon to lean against nothing. He listed to the side, eyes blinking open. Behind closed doors, Charon wasn’t there to take advantage of the lack of prying eyes of just the bouncers, but more the lack of prying eyes of the rest of the world. 

He was there to indulge. 

Hermes cleared his throat and pretended it was to keep Charon in line and not for his own nerves. He rested his foot on the floor, spreading his legs wide and letting the shirt drop between them. He gripped the chair between his legs and leaned in to grin at Charon. 

“So what is it you’re looking for?” Hermes asked. “Just a little bit of fun on your own then? A little bit of one on one?” 

Charon leaned back into the couch cushions, draping his arms across the back, looking for the world like a picture of relaxation. Ready to enjoy the show he paid so much for. The singular attention. 

Hermes wriggled in his seat, his body slithering back and forth as he undid the first two buttons of his shirt, revealing a high collar. He rose to his feet, continuing the sway of his dance, rocking his hips from side to side in time with the beat. Another button came undone, showing off the white criss crossed ties of the body suit underneath. 

“Greedy man,” Hermes said quietly. He reached out and plucked that pretentious hat off Charon’s head and placed it on his own. “You could have waited until I was off shift, but you just had to have me now, huh?” 

Hermes held the hat in place, tilting it back on his head, and rolled his body. Legs spread and hips rocking showing Charon what it would look like if he were riding something. Something _very_ specific. He took steps forward until he straddled one of Charon’s long legs, dipping his hips down just shy of grinding against his thigh. He reached into his shirt and held out the next button. 

“Undo it for me,” Hermes commanded. 

Charon’s eyes flitted to the door, cognisant of the rules. Hermes fluttered his shirt. 

“Do it,” he said, leaving no room for options. 

Resting his cigarette between his golden teeth again, Charon reached up and gingerly opened the button, revealing more of Hermes’ chest. 

“And the next one,” Hermes said. 

Charon did as he was told. 

“Finish me off,” Hermes said and attempted to disregard the thrill at the power he had over this threat. 

Charon dutifully undid the rest of Hermes’ shirt, leaving it hanging open and almost on full display. Before Charon could go anywhere, Hermes took the man by the wrists. He gently guided his hands up and under the shoulders of his shirt, feeling the cool of gold rings pass over his skin. Together, they pushed the button down off Hermes. 

It fell to the floor. 

If the button down shirt had been a fantasy of marital bliss, what was underneath was sin. A body suit that laced up the center, leaving a keyhole space at chest level to show off musculature. Criss crossed in the shape of Hermes’ body, diamond shapess that ran up his center and framed his skin, just barely covering up his dignity. Nothing wider than a shoestring ran up the center of his ass. He might as well have been wearing nothing back there. 

And it was all for Charon’s amusement. 

“You like?” Hermes asked, letting the hat drop from his hand.

It was very obvious what Charon liked. 

Hermes turned in place and took a handful of the material at the small of his back. He gave it a tug, driving the thong higher up. 

“I asked you a question,” Hermes said and gave his ass a quick smack, just to make it dance for Charon. 

Charon’s eyes were fixated on the roundness in front of him, his hands still raised from where Hermes had left them. Slowly, he looked back up to his tormentor. Slowly, his hands curled into loose fists. Slowly, he lowered them into his lap. 

Hermes tilted his chin high and he huffed through his nose. 

"Might as well give you what you came for," he said, turning back to the chair. 

He leaned on the back of the chair and propped a leg up on the seat. He gyrated, rotating one direction, then the next, not bothering to follow the beat. He peered over his shoulder, to see how his little show was received.

Charon still sat with his hands in his lap, limply holding on to his cigarette, the smoke trailing just as lamely. His eyes were indeed on the places they should have been, where Hermes was showing off. With all the enthusiasm of a television zombie, his eyes flicked up again, to another part he liked. Maintaining eye contact, he took another drag of his cigarette. 

"You really have no regard for rules," Hermes said, turning in place. "You're not supposed to smoke here, my hazardous friend." 

A smooth line of smoke blew out from the hole in his mask. 

Hermes bit his lip and sauntered close to Charon, walking tiptoe again. Each step slow and torturous, making sure to switch his walk as he came into a dangerous distance. Hermes kicked Charon’s legs open wider, demanding space be made for him. Before Charon could acclimate, Hermes turned, gripped Charon's thighs, and _sat_ down. 

"Oh so you _do_ like." Hermes ground back against Charon. "Yeah. You _definitely_ like." 

Restrained hands tightened at his sides, planted firmly on the couch. From Hermes' vantage point he could see knuckles whitening in the sparkling light from the mirror ball. Hermes chuckled and leaned fully back against Charon, using the gangster as his own personal lounge chair. He gave Charon no quarter, pressing and grinding against the erection that ached in his pants. Hermes artfully ignored the one confined in his body suit.

He reached one hand up and gripped the back of Charon's head. Hermes tried to ignore how fine and soft Charon's locks were, fisted the hair in an effort to stop himself from stroking it, and doubled his efforts. He ground down hard and delighted in the tight moan that echoed behind Charon's mask. Hermes could hear the heavy pants as Charon held himself back from driving up into Hermes' ass. 

Instead, he bowed his head and buried it in the crook of Hermes' neck. 

_Too much._

Hermes whirled on him, standing up and not pausing as he straddled the man. Spread wide on Charon's lap, giving him nowhere else to look but at Hermes. 

Hermes tried to keep dancing, to keep grinding into him, to keep falling into his respective role, be what Charon paid for. He closed his eyes, undulated his body, pressed his chest against the cold ridge of Charon's mask, felt the edge of it catch on his criss crossed strands. Hands above his head, sliding down his neck, Hermes attempted to lose himself in his own ego and ignore the way Charon's adoration pierced right through him. 

When Hermes finally dared to look, he was rewarded with those eyes. Pale and purple and practically glowing in the dim light of their private room. The lights dancing off his mask. 

Charon raised his hand to take another breath of his cigarette, an automatic action, unaware that he was even in a human body anymore. 

Hermes relieved him of his cigarette. Making sure Charon looked nowhere else, Hermes took a long draw, enough to end it. He wrapped his hands around Charon's face and hummed as he leaned in close. 

He could feel Charon's breath. Feel it on his skin, feel his chest swell as he gasped, feel his heart race under his fingertips. In a last move to push Charon's line, Hermes lined his lips up with that utilitarian space between golden teeth and breathed into Charon. 

It was everything Hermes had. Every trick, every distraction, every corner covered. Perfectly designed to muddle the mind and fool unsuspecting patrons that he was everything their dreams were made of. 

Charon was already so deep in Hermes' trap. It should have been simple. To leave the man a drooling mess beneath him. 

But when Hermes leaned back, he realized his crucial mistake. 

He had let his guard down. 

And it was too much. 

Gone was the intensity and ferocity. Gone was the dangerous man that everyone in the Club was terrified of. Gone was the control and the command. 

Charon, framed in Hermes' hands, stared up at him with wide eyes, tender and almost afraid. Brows pinched in a concerned upturn, a silent prayer to the one he worshipped, ready to lay down everything at Hermes' feet, like he owned it. Charon waited on Hermes, to see where he would take him next. 

Hermes knew he would follow. 

Hermes smiled and could no longer ignore how his breath shook. 

"You can't look at me like that boss," he whispered. "A boy might start to think things."

Charon reached up, as if to cup Hermes' cheek, but stopped just shy of doing so. His hand hovered mere inches, making Hermes' skin crawl with anticipation. Hermes closed his eyes and leaned into it, biting his lip when he felt nothing. Charon dropped his hand and Hermes let out a sigh. 

He stopped thinking. 

He did what he wanted. 

Hermes hooked his fingers into the edges of Charon's mask. 

Charon's hand whipped up, fast and strong, gripping Hermes by the wrist. The worship and awe gone from his eyes, replaced with a cold fear. 

Hermes blankly looked down on him, eyes scanning Charon's face. He leaned to the side and found the light switch, the mirror ball whining as it ground to a halt. The flashing colors of the world outside danced across Charon's jewels and defined the curves of his face. 

"I won't look," Hermes whispered and closed his eyes. 

He removed Charon's mask. 

A stale scent of sweat and cigarette smoke hit Hermes first. Then the quiet sound of quick breaths. A heat ghosted over Hermes' face as he leaned down. 

He met Charon's lips on the first try. 

Hermes could feel the ragged shape of Charon's mouth. Crooked and lopsided. Asymmetrical. There was a significant chunk missing in the upper lip and it felt like more had been replaced. It felt like ruination. 

Hermes didn't care. 

He moved his mouth in slow tender passes, delighting in the way Charon moved with him. The music still played through the speaker system, something filthy and objectifying, but all Hermes could hear was the quiet pass of their lips. He breathed in deep and swiped his tongue over Charon's teeth, tasting cold metal and finally the return press of Charon's tongue. 

Hands came up around Hermes, straining with the want to touch him, shy of doing just that. How Hermes wanted that, wanted Charon to hold him, fondle him, defile him. Instead, Hermes snarled and grabbed Charon's lapel, yanking the man closer. 

He huffed and whined as the kiss picked up, as he devoured Charon. He didn't want this. This wasn't him. He was spiraling, losing control. 

He didn't want it to stop. 

Hermes slowed, letting the kiss come to a natural end. Security would notice by then that the lights were off and Hermes hadn't moved from his spot on Charon's lap. He needed to end it somehow and with great willpower he managed just that. 

Keeping his eyes closed, Hermes pulled away and replaced Charon's mask. When it was securely back in place, only then did Hermes open his eyes. 

Even in the dark, Hermes could see the stun written all over Charon's face. No longer a terrified plea for mercy, but a quiet exhilaration, a continued worship of everything Hermes had to offer. 

Hermes let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and it shook. 

"Oh," he laughed quietly. "Oh no."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me have feelings 
> 
> I'm gonna have to write adorable fluff to scrub this filth from me 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	3. The Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He watched the shadows behind the tinted glass, just barely making out the way a glinting form in the shape of a jaw was removed and set aside. The glow of a cigarette light as a deep inhale was taken. 
> 
> Hermes could almost feel those eyes. Worshipping him from afar. 
> 
> "Alright, fuck this," Hermes said, throwing down his water bottle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry I said I would have this done in a week and two weeks later I'm finally posting the last chapter. Sorry about that. I got distracted <:)

It was a clear night. Through the flashing neon of Club Olympus’ sign, Hermes could just make out the stars in the sky. Brisk enough that he still needed the coat, but warm that it was just shy of uncomfortable. 

He stepped out to his "smoke" break area, water bottle in hand, ready for his nightly routine of hydration and voyeurism. 

The boat was parked in its usual spot. The big black monstrosity that serviced as some kind of roving office for drug lords. It's CEO seated neatly in his big office chair, taking customers and wheeling deals. A man in a cheap gray suit scuttled from the back seat, looking more pale than when he arrived. The driver's side window rolled down and a lighter glowed from inside. 

Charon had not returned to the club since. . . since the kiss. That amazing, spine tingling, toe curling kiss. The one that haunted Hermes' dreams every night after. 

As predicted, security came and broke the party up. Charon wasn't the type to be kicked out as so much asked to leave. To which he did. Hands in his pockets, cigarette between the teeth of his mask, not sparing Hermes a second glance. 

Every time the front door opened, Hermes looked. He held his breath, waiting on a too tall monster to come rolling though his threshold, wearing a ridiculous hat, lights glittering off his mask. His brothers had come for a visit and it took all Hermes' willpower not to stalk off the stage and throttle the twins, asking on demands as to the whereabouts of their elder sibling. 

It had been over a week. 

Hermes wasn't sure what he would do if Charon came back. It was out in the open, this thing they had. Blatantly clear that it wasn't just a client/stripper relationship. Strippers didn't kiss their clients like _that_. Clients didn't look at strippers like _that!_ Maybe some facsimile akin to it, but not with the depth and desire Charon had held. 

Were they supposed to acknowledge it? Ignore it? Continue on like business as usual? What happens if they explored it, what then? Would they go on a _date?_

Hermes scoffed at the idea, going to the movies with a drug lord. 

Hermes took another swig and watched with longing to get just a glimpse, just a peek of the man that had so enraptured him. 

He watched the shadows behind the tinted glass, just barely making out the way a glinting form in the shape of a jaw was removed and set aside. The glow of a cigarette light as a deep inhale was taken. 

Hermes could almost feel those eyes. Worshipping him from afar. 

"Alright, fuck this," Hermes said, throwing down his water bottle. 

With an expert ease, he unbuckled and unzipped his heels, dropping the extra seven inches they gave him. Flat footed and holding them in his hands, he marched across the parking lot. Arms swinging at his sides and a purpose in his heart. Feet slapping against the pavement with each irritated stomp. He didn't care if Charon saw him coming. If the man tried to drive away, Hermes would just chase down his car like a dog. All the way to whatever hole he crawled out of if need be. 

Charon didn't pull away. The car didn't start. A jewelry laden arm hung slack out the car window, completely unaware of the trouble that came his way. 

Hermes closed his eyes and opened the passenger side door. 

"I'm not looking," he said in a rush, tossing his heels to the floor. 

He felt the mask under his knee as he crawled over the seat, over the median, up onto a very surprised lap. Charon didn't have much time to continue his shock before Hermes settled into a tight straddle, found his face between his hands, and kissed him with ferocity. He missed at first, sloppily mouthing at the corner of Charon’s ragged lips, turning his head and Charon's until they met. 

Hermes was done waiting. He was done being patient. They had shared a _moment_ and Charon simply did not follow through. Whether it be out of some sense of skewed respect or decency or shame. 

It certainly wasn’t because of lack of interest. 

Hermes skipped over any invitation or decorum, delving straight into filth. He pressed his tongue against Charon’s, prying him open like treasure and Hermes was eager to find what was inside. A grip strong from holding his body up a pole clamped Charon’s head firmly in place, making sure he couldn’t run that time, forced into stillness so that Hermes could do as he pleased. 

Hermes ground down on Charon’s lap, pressing into Charon exactly what he thought of him. It was no dance, no sensuality. In that moment, Hermes was not designed to seduce. 

He was pure lust. 

An erection pressed hard against tiny taut shorts that hid absolutely nothing. The perfect shape of his cock visible even in the dark of the car. He groaned and whimpered, pressing the painful hardness against Charon. 

Shock still froze Charon. How he had gone from peacefully sitting in his car to being assaulted by the lust driven demon in his lap. The cigarette still hung limp between his fingers and his hand was outstretched to the median, probably to go for a piece at the sudden appearance of another in his car. His hands froze, hovered in the air in confusion and question and stupor. 

His hands hovered around Hermes, much in the same way they did in the club. Closely adhering to very specific rules that Hermes himself enforced. 

But they weren’t in the club. 

The second Charon got over the surprise of Hermes in his car, in his lap, his hands clamped down on the skin he so yearned to touch. Cigarette flicked and forgotten out the window, Charon’s hands found themselves against Hermes’ back. Gripping and pulling with a desperation that Hermes had yet to see from the man. He breathed in deep and loud for air from Hermes’ onslaught, his chest arching up off the seat to press against Hermes. An attempt to meet Hermes’ fervor. 

His hands roamed, desperate to touch everything he had been denied at once. As fumbling as a teenager, moving too quickly. He pressed inside Hermes’ jacket, finding the skin of his flank warm and smooth. Fingers clawed and practically shaking as they ran over his back, his spine, squeezing into his waist, down over his hips. 

Hermes rattled as he shed his jacket, snarling and growling when it didn’t immediately come off easy. His sleeves flapped like ragged bat wings as he shook them off, chucking the offending garment to the floor with his heels. 

Once bare, Charon touched everywhere. Over shoulders, across his stomach, up thighs. He squeezed the thickness, the power in them, digging his fingers into the hard flesh. He was quick to find Hermes’ ass, a prize that he had obviously been eyeing for some time. An animalistic growl vibrated in the back of his throat as Charon dug into ample flesh. Hermes matched it in desperation, lifting up off Charon’s lap with the strength and strain. Tilting his head back, drinking of him, clawing for more. 

A long loud blaring of a horn cut through the night as Hermes’ ass was sat back against the steering wheel. 

Hermes pulled back in shock, separating from Charon with a wet _smack_ , sitting up so fast his head hit the ceiling. True to his word, he kept his eyes clamped shut. 

Charon moved quick, reaching down to his side and lowering the seat. The electronics groaned as the seat slowly ebbed to lying back. As they descended, Hermes ravaged Charon again, laying down on top of him. He bucked like an animal, whining and groaning into Charon’s mouth, his hands finding the delicate buttons of Charon’s shirt. Layers of gold necklaces and chains jangled as Hermes struggled to scramble beneath them. Already working them open to finally _finally_ get a taste of what Hermes had been lusting for for _months_. 

Hermes had barely made it down to Charon’s stomach when Charon gave him a swift smack to the back side. _Hard_.

“Ah!” Hermes yelped, bowing his head into the crook of Charon’s neck. “Oh fuck do that again.” 

Instead of acquiescing, Charon simply tapped Hermes’ ass in a quick succession. _One, two, three,_ and Hermes immediately got the message. 

The seat lowered all the way back and Hermes crawled over Charon into the back seat. It was deeper than the cheap cars he normally owned, the luxury of a spacious back seat, and it took awhile before Hermes crawled face first into the leather. 

Still straddled over Charon’s face, Hermes hooked his fingers over the head rests and laughed into the leather. The typically silent man snarled and rough hands took Hermes by the hips. He was physically thrown across the back seat until his face was pressed hard against the glass, the wind knocked out of him. He barely had time to react when his literally glued on hot pants were yanked down over his ass, ripping adhesive as they bunched around his thighs. Hermes barely had the time to mourn his red aching sides when his ass was taken in two hands, one for each cheek, spread, and a tongue delved between them. 

Hermes moaned long and loud at the sudden intruder, high at the initial and transforming into a guttural groan as he adjusted to the lapping tongue. His hands squealed, pressed against the glass, dragging down. His cheek was shoved hard against the window, face pulsating with each thrust of Charon’s face. 

It had been some time since Hermes received such worship. To have someone kneeled before him, or in that case behind him, let alone someone of Charon’s caliber. In any other situation, it may have been someone using Hermes, defiling him, taking what they liked. But from Charon, it felt like reverence. 

Hermes groaned and pushed back against the window. He rocked back into Charon’s tongue, as he lapped his hole, dragged across it, probed it. Hermes reached back and ran his hand over Charon’s head, grabbing a fistful of hair. 

“Fuck Charon,” he breathed. “Fuck.” 

Charon pushed forward, pushed hard, pushed Hermes flush against the door. His cheek hit the glass hard. He yelped and panted as Charon essentially tongue fucked him. 

Hermes’ eyes creaked open, adjusting slowly to what little light got into the dark car in that dark corner of the parking lot. Colors smeared and blurred as Hermes blinked awareness back into his eyes. Panting like an animal, he looked over his shoulder. 

Charon’s eyes were closed, lost in the complete bliss of Hermes’ ass. He couldn’t see the details of the lower half of Charon’s face, hidden deep inside his ass. His hair pulled up tight in Hermes’ fist, skewed and mussed and out of control in ways Hermes had never seen on the man before. He was scrunched up in a contortionists position, half fallen off the front seat. 

Pale eyes opened and looked up. Charon halted. Frozen like a deer in headlights. 

“Sorry,” Hermes laughed, not meaning it. “I peeked.” 

Fingers still tight around Hermes’ ass, Charon slowly backed off. A fight or flight evident in his body, ridiculous on man. 

There was no where he could run to. No where he could hide. Not from Hermes. 

Hermes pounced, moving quickly. He grabbed Charon by the shirt and dragged him fully onto the back seat, grinning maniacally as he maneuvered the man exactly to where he wanted him. Back hit hard against the seat and legs scrunched up to fit. Hermes straddled his chest, pushing down on his shoulders, wide eyed and feral as he finally took the man in. 

Charon’s face was ruination. 

One cheek was sunken, the outline of a skull evident. Where his cheekbone jutted out, sloping in to a sharp pok that puckered in by the corner of his lip. The other side had a starburst scar tissue, however the evidence of the wound was far less severe as its twin. His mouth was lop sided, pulled up in a permanent sneer. A large gash on his far worse ruined side tore up the corner of his lip, jagged like a fault line. An effort had been made to repair it, off color skin patched up underneath, at different elevations, flattening the natural curvature of his lip until it was no longer there at all. His mouth was pulled up to reveal teeth, clearly replaced and glinting gold in the low light. 

His eyes wide, reading of terror, of betrayal, of deep seated cold fear. 

Waiting on Hermes. 

Hermes sat up straight, unfurling to be great and mighty over Charon, his hands firmly planted on Charon’s chest. A smile, hungry and powerful curled over his face. 

He was the one who was allowed to see that face. It was his right. He had earned it. 

He owned this man. 

“Do you fuck in this car?” he asked. 

Charon blinked, surprised at the unexpected question, clearly anticipating a different kind of reaction from Hermes. The man was apparently slow on the uptake, still confused by the sudden whiplash. Practically juvenile, an absolute child when he was exposed. 

“While I do carry condoms on me, you know, in case of emergencies.” Hermes sat his exposed ass back on Charon’s tented pants and _ground down_. Charon flinched, gripping Hermes by the hips once more, sucking in a tight breath. “I don’t exactly have any lube. But I’m willing to run on a good spit job alone.” 

Hermes leaned in menacingly, hooking a finger under the next button of Charon’s shirt. It popped from the tight pull Hermes had, the strain he was under from holding back. 

“I want you,” he snarled. 

Still wide eyed, still afraid, Charon’s chest pumped like a cornered rabbit. His eyes darted to the side and he pointed to the front seat. 

Hermes pushed off the man and he wheezed from the force of it. He crawled up to the front seat, his lower half still in the back. The full display given to Charon. Hermes dug through his jacket to pull out the emergency condom next to his keys and popped over the glove compartment. A small bottle lay wedged in the side next to the registration and car manual. 

A hand traced over the curve of Hermes’ ass, far more gentle than the course treatment it had received thus far. His skin stung red from where Charon had whalloped it and Hermes bit his lip at the sensation. He held still, letting Charon play and explore, letting his thumb brush against Hermes’ hole. 

Hermes climbed back and went to hand the tiny bottle of lube to Charon. 

He paused. 

“Why is this blue raspberry flavored?” he asked. 

Charon gave a long suffering sigh and gently rubbed Hermes’ thighs. Without saying a word, Hermes knew. 

“Ah,” he said. Charon didn’t fuck in the car. “Hypnos.” 

Charon groaned and took the shockingly blue, glittery lube away from Hermes. Squirming on top of Charon, Hermes peeled off his shorts and threw them somewhere to the floor. His fingers went back to Charon’s shirt, pulling it free from his pants. 

“Well?” he asked, eyes focused on the expanse of chest he was revealing. “What’re you waiting for? Spread me open, big guy.” 

There were those intense eyes Hermes knew and loved. 

He sat up in a half crunch, pouring the neon blue lube onto his fingers, and reached around to trace Hermes’ hole. Hermes kept himself occupied with revealing more and more of Charon, finally getting his shirt opened and his chest revealed. The lines of his definition powerful as Hermes traced them. Up to his shoulder, slipping inside his sleeves, feeling the strength in his arms. The man could throw him halfway across the parking lot and Hermes would be on his knees saying _‘thank you sir may I please have another.’_ Charon’s stomach was flat and slim and oh so very lickable. 

Hermes wanted to bow down and trace his belly button with his tongue. 

Slicked up fingers pushed into the tight heat of Hermes’ ass. His eyes squeezed shut and he groaned pleasantly. The simple invasion of Charon’s adoration slid in easy enough. Even without lube he could push in with gentle ease. Hermes would have accepted him. 

He rocked back against the finger, feeling it twist and turn, feeling the ring against his skin. Charon practically purred beneath him. 

Panting out of sheer excitement, Hermes went for Charon’s belt. He made quick work of it, nearly breaking the zipper and shimmying Charon’s pants down his hips. 

He paused, a slow smile spreading over his face. His eyes flicked dangerously up to Charon again. 

“Oh Daddy,” he said dark and slow. 

Charon gave him another swift hit to the backside, the crack of it ringing in the car. Hermes squeaked, yelping more out of shock than pain. He bowed down on Charon’s chest, fists pressing against it, and it was only a matter of seconds before he devolved into laughter. 

“You really don’t like my pet name for you?” Hermes cooed, lifting his eyes to look dangerously up at the gangster. “Daddy?” 

Charon dug his fingers into the freshly abused ass and pulled Hermes open harshly. Hermes simply ran his tongue up the center of Charon’s chest, dragging the lick for as long as possible. 

“You know, I’m on break. They’re probably going to start wondering where I’ve gone off to,” Hermes teased. “If you don’t get a move on, I’m going to have to end this early and then where will we–ah!” 

The second finger slid in, not as easy as the first, but shoved next to its partner all the same. Scissoring wide to push against the tightness that was Hermes, pushing up against his walls, spreading him wide. Hermes through his head back and panted, whining laughter on his voice. He bit his lip and bowed his head again, ass high to meet Charon’s fingers. 

“You’re gonna have to work harder than that,” Hermes said against Charon’s chest, dragging his teeth against his skin. He wrapped his fingers around the dick, falling into place one at a time. “If we’re planning on fitting all this in me.” 

Charon grunted and jerked his arm a little hard, throttling Herme’s whole body higher up. Hermes’ chin scraped against Charon’s chest, bumping into the hardware around his neck, and bringing him back into close proximity of his face. Hermes smiled, enjoying the effect he had on the man, and languidly returned to kissing him. 

The insecurity that Charon had displayed, the one that looked so bad on him, was beginning to fall away with each silent insistence from Hermes that, yes, he was here for this. His tongue curled into Charon’s mouth, tasting the cold metal of golden teeth. He rubbed up to get more of that tongue, bucked back to fuck himself on those ringed fingers. Up and down Charon’s body, pressing his own against the expanse of it. His hand rode up and down the shaft of Charon’s dick, moving with the same liquid ease. 

He squeezed a little tighter and Charon snarled, something hard and rumbling in his chest that hermes could _feel_. 

“I’m ready for you,” Hermes whispered against Charon’s lips, his own dragging open and wet. 

Charon pushed his fingers all the way into the hilt, wriggled them deep inside Hermes, just to make him bite his lip again. 

“I am,” Hermes groaned, fucking back onto his hand. “Even if I’m not I’m going to be anyways. Always was.” 

Charon huffed and pulled out, leaving Hermes empty and whimpering. Hermes went for the condom, ripping it open with too much vigor. Hermes wasn’t sure if the full package Charon would be able to fit in the condom he brought, but he still took his careful time rolling it down. One hand on the ceiling and using the considerable amount of strength in his legs, Hermes lined himself up and slowly lowered himself onto Charon’s cock. 

It was tight. It was wide. It stretched Hermes. It was a slow effort as Hermes acclimated to Charon’s girth. He groaned and tilted his head back, letting gravity do most of the work. Charon’s hands rubbed up and down his quivering thighs, as if he were hushing a wild horse. Soothing him in his eagerness to fit Charon within him. 

When Hermes opened his eyes he saw the drug lord wasn’t faring much better. 

A smile cocked on Hermes’ lips and he lowered more. 

“You liking this?” he breathed. 

Charon gripped Hermes’ thighs in all the ways he had been denied before. He didn’t have much room for Hermes’ rhetorical questions. The ones he fed Charon night after night, an enticing taunt and tease. 

There was no show in the back of that car. Only what was real. 

Charon dropped his foot to the floor and pushed _up_ into Hermes. 

A deranged clicking noise choked in the back of Hermes’ throat. The sheer force of it shut Hermes up. His hand hit hard against the ceiling just to brace himself. Head rocking, eyes wide, Charon was fully buried in Hermes. Hermes’ legs quivered, the skin and muscle shaking. His fingertips brushed Charon’s bare chest. Acclimating to the sudden fullness within him. 

Deceptively gentle hands rubbed at his bare hips, soothing him, almost an apology for the sudden skewer. Thumbs rubbing circles over the shape of his bones. Fingers splayed over the thickness and power of his thighs. 

Hermes’ vision returned to him and his head lolled, smiling like a drunk as he grinned down at the man beneath him. 

Cool and complacent, waiting on Hermes. He looked as if he would be content to sit there forever, Hermes wrapped around him, finally connected. 

Like they could stay in that spot forever. 

Without needing any direction or prompt, Hermes read Charon’s mind, as he always did. Slowly, he pushed his legs, pushing up off Charon’s cock, then slid back down again. Mouth open to catch his breath, eyes heavy, looking nowhere but at Charon. Slow to start, Hermes used what limited space he had to ride Charon. 

His leg crammed between Charon’s body and the leather of the back seat. His hair brushing the top of the car. One hand on the ceiling, the other braced on Charon’s chest. Working with his cramped quarters to keep as pleasing as he could be. Hermes fell back on his natural inclinations on showmanship, on seduction, on telling a story. Rolling his hips like a dance, putting on a show. 

But there was no story there. There was no fantasy or farce. It was all reality. 

Charon lay beneath him. Neck bent awkwardly against the door, hair splayed out like a halo. He panted in much the same way Hermes did, looking up at Hermes in much the same way he did in the club. At Hermes’ feet, pinning him down with a hunger that had no intention of possession. 

Even as Hermes rode his cock. 

Hermes could feel his resolve break, could feel his facade slipping. Reality setting in that they weren’t in the club, they didn’t need theatrics. In the back of Charon’s car, Hermes found something real. 

Hermes gave in, no longer just a stripper, but a man. His hand dropped down to Charon’s chest, fully relying on the man beneath him to hold him up. He fucked not for Charon’s pleasure, but his own. Eyes closed and going at a pace he preferred. He dropped his head and groaned, feeling Charon’s cock in its entirety, touching places inside him that strung thunderbolts of pleasure. Increasing in their intensity as he kept going, growing closer and closer as the storm travelled across the land. 

“Charon,” Hermes breathed. 

Charon moved with Hermes. Going up on his toes to roll into Hermes as Hermes rocked down. Moving together. Finding a pace where they were one. Hermes rolling his hips for his own personal pleasure. Charon’s hands on his hips for his pleasure. Charon’s eyes on him for his pleasure. 

Hermes laughed and threw back his head. He shifted, picking up in speed, looking for his own orgasm in the fuck. His fingers clawed at Charon’s chest, digging nails into delightful skin. A gradation of movement that slid from the roll of his hips into a full on bounce. 

Hermes gasping laughter filled the car like music blasting from a radio. The car rocked back and forth on its wheels, squeaking with each rock. Hermes leaned back, his back arching like a bow, his hands crawling up to the ceiling. 

Charon’s hands were all over him. Over his thighs, over his sides, up his chest. A thumb flicked a nipple and Hermes whined through his mania. All the little places Charon had been denied time and time again, he discovered. Down Hermes’ back, into the dips, over his ass. 

Hermes was greedy for his touch. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to ever go back. 

“Charon,” he moaned again. 

All at once, Charon sat up. Hermes made a small undignified noise as he was thrown to the other side of the car. His back hit the far door, rocking the cab on its wheels all the harder. Evident to the outside world what was happening behind tinted windows, but Hermes couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Charon thrust hard into him, hand pressed firm against the window, hair wild and draped around them. He leaned in close, skewing Hermes’ legs at odd angles. He breathed heavy, his lip curling back further in concentration, watching the sweat kissed, glitter laden body before him. A feral animal. 

Hermes reached up, his hand covering Charon’s, fingers slotting between them. 

Charon thrust forward once, twice, a third time. His head bowed in almost regret as he held on tight, making the moment last for as long as he could. Defeat hit him in a violent wave. He barked out a small cry, wheezing on lungs long tortured by nicotine and ash. His head hung low, hair hiding both of them from the rest of the world. Head almost touching Hermes. Face contorted in abject ecstasy. 

Hermes watched it all. 

Charon held onto his orgasm for what felt like a lifetime, gold teeth bared and gritted, until he sighed. His shoulders relaxed and his hand slid down the window, falling into Hermes’ grasp. Still bent in half in ways his flexible body was best suited for, Hermes brought Charon’s fingers to his lips. He let his lips drag across the back of knuckles. 

“That was good,” he muttered. 

A gentle warmth touched Charon’s face, forgein on the drug lord, but welcomed in the back of his car. He cupped Hermes’ face, ran his touch down his neck, down his chest, down his stomach. Until he found Hermes’ cock. 

Hermes groaned at the stroke of Charon’s hand. His eyes closed and ran his tongue between Charon’s fingers, tasting the gold of his rings. He slipped two fingers into his mouth, tasting the blue raspberry smeared there. Eyes closed and riding the simple enjoyment of Charon’s machinations. 

When he flicked them open again, when he saw the stare he was under, when he was close enough to Charon’s face his soul could _taste_ it, Hermes came. 

He clamped his teeth down around Charon’s knuckled and felt them curl behind his teeth. He snarled, his hips bucking up into Charon’s hand. Cum stained his stomach, shooting to his chin from the curled up position he was forced into. 

Focused on Charon’s face. Eyes on Charon’s. Exposed and empty and open for both of them to share. This was Hermes, this belonged to him and only him. 

They saw of each other what they hid from the world. 

Hermes moaned, something between a whimper and a laugh, before releasing Charon’s fingers. He licked at the indentations he made, smiling up at his paramour. Charon slid free to hold Hermes’ face once more and run a calloused thumb across his lip. 

“Come here boss,” Hermes said and Charon obeyed. 

____

Hermes was flying. 

Around he went, his knees bent up, body close to the pole, arms pulled taut. The world spun like a carousel, faces blurring into the lights as he rushed through the air. He dropped his head back, legs spread, and let the world slow down again. Hand outstretched, he felt a tip slide between his fingers. 

“Thanks,” Hermes said with a wink to the sappy looking grad student in the front row. She smiled and settled back into her seat, as shy as could be, but content she had done her due diligence. 

Hermes dropped to the ground again, taking a moment to sway and dance. Rock his hips back and forth to the music. Mostly naked, all revealed, keeping what little secrets he had to himself, he chose to entice, to toy, to tease. 

To strip. 

Hermes’ shift was almost up, warming up the audience for Aphrodite. He’d move on for a break, maybe do a private dance if he was asked, but was looking forward to a little bit of fresh air behind the building. He thought about his bottle of water as he climbed up the pole again, throwing his vigor and want for the hydration into his dance, making it look like a different calibre of thirst. 

He wrapped his legs around the pole, using momentum to spin again, and let the world flip. Head tilted down and wings flying through the air, he turned when he felt the breeze of the front door open. 

Charon had indeed memorized Hermes’ schedule. He admitted as much in the quiet of his home. Curled up in Charon’s ostentatious bed that had previously only serviced one. The same place where Hermes admitted much more. Where they split back between themselves, sharing information not privy to anyone else. Unzipping themselves and finding where the teeth lined up with one another. 

It was no surprise when Charon walked in for the last song. 

Charon’s near nightly visits only became more frequent. If he wasn’t there for work, he made it abundantly clear he was there for one thing and one thing only. No more beating around the bush, no more being coy about it. 

Charon was there for Hermes. 

He would beeline for the stage or take a seat in the couches on the fringes. He would pay for a private dance and get Hermes all to himself. 

Gone was the casual touches, trying to reach out to land hands on Hermes’ skin. The sessions with one another had transformed into another titillation. Foreplay as it were. An enticement of what Charon could have before taking home what he did. 

The trist in the car had proven to be a poor decision. The walk of shame Hermes had to do as he slipped back into the club, already late for his shift, and wore no regrets. It didn’t stop them from doing it again. And again. And maybe one more time. Until he got a talking to, but even then, Hermes had a hard time keeping his hands off the man after particularly steamy private sessions. 

Charon was much the same. 

Hermes smiled like a cheshire as the drug lord crossed the club. Mask glittering in the fluttering lights, cane rapping on the floor as he went. Eyes focused on Hermes and only Hermes. 

There was no point for him to go to the Chthonics usual seating arrangements. Marching right past their usual booth, Charon made his way up to Hermes’ stage. With about the modicum of manners that Charon could muster, he tapped the legs of the grad student’s chair. Like all of them, she took one look up at Charon, and let intimidation whisk her away. 

Charon took his rightful place. 

Hermes let his hands go and hung before Charon, upside down and outstretched. Within reach, but Charon knew better. Not then. Not there. 

Later. 

“Got a little gift for you, big man,” Hermes said. 

He dropped to the stage, his heels hitting the platform with a strong _thunk_. The tiny miniscule pocket on his shorts had been bulging all night and Hermes slipped two fingers into it. He pulled out a gleaming coin, gold that flashed in purples and blues in the light. He twisted it in the air and watched how Charon tracked it with fascination. Bored to the rest of the world, but like a cat gazing upon nip to Hermes. 

Hermes had found out about Charon’s penchant for gold, deeper than he had initially thought. 

And Hermes discovered he loved spoiling the man. 

Hermes was up in the air again, flying through the stale atmosphere of the nightclub. He spun around his pole, where he wanted to be, where he was the most fascinating. Charon leaned forward in his seat, hands folded atop his cane, interested to see where the gold and his lover might end up. Hermes looped one leg around the pole, the other dangling out at an angle, like crooked butterfly wings. He leaned forward, letting his hand squeal as his arm stretched down the pole. 

The coin was clasped firmly between his teeth and he crooked one finger to Charon. 

Charon, dutifully, was on his feet. He stepped close enough to the stage for Meg to perk up, but not enough for her to come over. 

Hermes reached out and tapped one finger underneath Charon’s chin, where the mask didn’t cover and he could feel the beginnings of scruff from the day. He pressed, forcing Charon’s head up. 

Charon took the coin between two knuckles and Hermes let him take it away. 

“What do you say?” Hermes said, in a tone no one else could hear under the thumping of the music. “Care to give me a ride?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tripped and whoops shmaltz got all over the place. 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Its just filth all the way down 
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


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